The Black Bird's Song
by TeaLovingAmerican
Summary: On July 31st 1980, two souls were brought into the world in the halls of St. Mungo's. Shortly after, one departed. Corvus Altair Malfoy, the infant who had survived, is quickly stolen away in the night and is forced to pose as the stillborn Harry James Potter. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately for young Corvus, family is forever. AU


**Author's Note: **I've had this sitting in my files for a while so I decided that I ought to finish it up and post it. I'm actually really fond of stories where Harry is actually a Malfoy, or that the Malfoys adopted Harry so here is my contribution to that idea. I have almost all of this story planned out actually. Oh and Draco's birthday isn't the same as in canon because I wanted Harry to keep his birthday the same and I've always seen Draco as a November baby anyways. Anyways, enjoy.

* * *

"And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming"

-The Raven

* * *

The Black Bird's Song

Prologue

The Beginning

* * *

It could be attested that Lucius Abraxas Malfoy was almost always calm, cunning, conniving, and resourceful. Despite his age, he had risen up within the Ministry of Magic and already was a major chair holder in politics, recently claiming a place upon the Board of Governors for the highly prestigious school of witchcraft and wizardry, Hogwarts, although this all could be argued to be due to his wealth and influential name. However, if one were to look at the man now, pacing back and forth and back again, constantly disrupting the moonlight falling upon the white tiled floor, the aforementioned words to describe him would be for naught. As it were, upon the eve of August, the man was harried and disoriented, his impeccable appearance doing no justice to his frazzled nerves. For despite his usual collective nature, when one is in the hallways of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, especially the hallway the Malfoy lord was currently within, one is rarely calm. Lucius' feet paused in their movement as a figure appeared from within the room he was continuously passing. Stood within the door's doorway was a middle-aged Mediwitch with graying dark hair and equally dark, amused blue eyes. Lucius's eyes immediately went to the healer, wasting not a second to ask the thought that was plaguing his mind.

"How is my wife?"

The Mediwitch took a moment to push a stray hair behind her ear before answering in a smooth, calm voice, "She is fine Lord Malfoy."

The Malfoy patriarch's mercury eyes scrutinized the healer for a mere second, and seeming to find what he was looking for, asked a hurried second question.

"And the child?"

The woman let out a tired smile, before stepping out of the doorway and giving the Malfoy Lord access to the room.

"See for yourself."

Lucius did not spare the middle-aged healer a passing glance as he quickly glided into the room. The inside of the room was almost as stark white as the tiled floor and walls of the hallway, so the man's eyes immediately strayed to the concentration of color in the room, and ultimately his target. His feet, though sore from his previous pacing, brought him to the bedside of his wife, Narcissa Malfoy née Black, whose tired and weary face broke out into a shaky smile at the sight of her husband, and whose hands clutched onto a white bundle held close to her chest. Upon the sight of the small bundle of blankets, the Malfoy lord's breath hitched, and though he knew the answer, he asked the question on his mind anyway.

"Is that…?"

Despite his inability to finish his question, Narcissa smiled knowingly at the man towering over her before reaching a hand up to uncover the face hidden within the white blankets, as she breathed out, "It is."

As her long, skinny fingers pulled the blanket away, a small regal, angelic face appeared, with black curls peaking above its forehead. Lucius' right hand retracted from its clenched position around his ever present cane, which he had been holding as if a life line for the past few hours, and reached to graze against the delicate, fine hair atop the infant's head, he lips twitching upwards in amusement at the color. The man quickly looked up into his wife's eyes, nonverbally pleading for an answer to a silent question.

"It's a boy," she whispered, before turning her baby blue eyes upon the newborn within her arms. Lucius's eyes widened in glee before quickly turning back towards the boy in question. A son, he thought, a second son. His first, a child who had yet to reach his first birthday, was safe at home within his manor, tucked tight into his lavish crib, and being constantly waited on and protected by a house elf. Lucius had considered bringing the young Draco with him to St. Mungo's, however, with the uncertainty of if the premature infant would even make it into this world alive, Lucius and Narcissa had decided as a unit to leave the toddler at home. They didn't want to upset their heir with the sight of a stillborn child, after all.

But the small, frail child within Narcissa's arms was not in the least a stillborn, Lucius noted. His fingers still traced the hair upon the boy's soft forehead, as the infant's chest went up and down at its soft sleeping inhales. His skin was worryingly pale, but both the Malfoy and the Black family were known for their extremely fair skin. Overall, though the newborn was a few months premature, he was relatively healthy. The smile upon the Maloy lord's lips widened slightly as he held the silk thread of the newborn's hair in his hand.

"He got this from _your _side of the family, Cissa," he jokingly chided as his usually cold gray eyes softened ever more at the sight of his newborn son.

The woman mentioned let out a quiet huff and sent a playful glare at her husband before gazing back fondly at her new son. His face, though rounded with baby fat, did resemble more of her family than her husband's, and not to mention the raven hair perched upon the newborn's head. She had been terribly worried that something would go wrong, that her child would be beyond repair, beyond hope, so she was immensely relieved to be able to hold her sleeping newborn. So young, so innocent, and without an identity to the world. But what to call him? Her husband seemed to share her thoughts, if the next words out of his mouth were any hint to his.

"What should we name him, dear?"

Narcissa knew she should let her husband name him, since she had been the one to name their first son, Draco Lucius Malfoy, according to her Black family tradition of stellar names, his middle name notwithstanding seeing as it is pureblood custom for the heir to a family to take on the current head's name as their middle name, but as she looked upon her newly born child's raven hair, a name appeared in her mind that she knew was perfect.

"Corvus," the young mother purred.

The Crow.

Lucius's eyes widened and quickly glanced into his wife's light blue orbs before looking back at the sleeping infant. The name certainly seemed to fit the dark haired newborn. Mercury eyes scanned the newborn for an idea of his second name, when a name hit him. Corvus, just as Draco, was a constellation in the night sky; however Corvus, instead of bearing the depiction of the great flying reptile, was symbolized by a great crow of legend in flight. And because of this, another star name was brought to the forefront of the young Malfoy lord's mind: Altair, the "flying one." Lucius looked the child over one more time, before saying the newborn's name aloud for the first time.

"Corvus Altair Malfoy."

As if a spell was broken by his father speaking his new name, the newly named Corvus awakened and opened his eyes for the first time, staring straight into his father's dark, silver-gray eyes. As he heard his wife heave a large intake of air, Lucius found himself sucked into the infant's hypnotizing gaze. The youngest Malfoy's eyes were unlike any he had ever laid eyes upon. The green color captured within his childlike orbs was a color the Malfoy lord had only ever seen in the deadliest spell known to man. The Avada curse. The Killing Curse. Tears pooled in the Malfoy Lord's eyes as he stared into the infant's glowing gaze. He must have been cursed the first time he had raised his wand arm and spoke those deadly words, for there was no greater irony than to see the color he was most ashamed of in his son's eyes.

But as he stared, the feeling of sorrow and regret faded away. He shouldn't even relate the two; his son and the curse. For the child in his wife's arms was pure innocence. He needn't bear his father's sins. And he wouldn't. The Malfoy patriarch vowed at that moment that he would do everything in his power to keep his youngest son from being brought into the war. It may be too late for his eldest son, as his heir, just as it had been too late for him, being his late father's heir. But his youngest son was not his heir and would be free to live as he wished. Lucius would make sure of it.

As if hearing his father's silent vow, the newborn let out a gargled laugh, eyes lighting up in childish delight. Lord Malfoy's lips upturned ever so lightly as he softly pet his son's angelic face.

* * *

While the Malfoy family rejoiced as a new member entered their family on that eve of August night, another family, just a few doors down the hall, was weeping. The Potters were a respectable family, they were an old family, but they never stuck to traditions and always welcomed the new. A prosperous light-oriented family that everyone around them looked up to. They held the world on their shoulders, but they always came out the better man in the end. So it was with heavy hearts that they cried over this new tragedy.

The tragedy being the birth of the Potter heir, a Harry James Potter. Born mere minutes before the youngest Malfoy, the Potter heir began showing problems. Major problems. Namely, the youngest Potter was born stillborn. It was a twisted phenomenon. There was nothing indicating that the infant should have been born still. Unlike the newly born Corvus, Harry was not premature. Both James Charlus Potter and Lily Potter née Evans had no serious health problems that could have harmed the child. The healers were in shock. The Potter family on the other hand, was devastated. Surrounding the mourning pair were close family friends with tears in their eyes. One Sirius Orion Black, with a hand wrapped around his best friend's shoulder, the solemn father, clenched his teeth painfully as he looked at the limp newborn. Beside him was a young werewolf, who went by the name of Remus John Lupin, who felt two different parts of his soul weeping and raging over the loss of his new pack member. Off to the side were two other men. One, a mousy man by the name of Peter Pettigrew, kept running a hand through his already thinning hair as he muttered to himself, shooting glances between the dead child and its parents. The other was a respectable and well known man by the name of Albus Dumbledore. Albus, who had on an odd pair of glasses perched upon a crooked nose, seemingly wiped away a stray tear as it fell before taking slow, measured steps toward the grieving couple.

"I believe it is time to say goodbye."

His voice was low and weary, as if this was the most depressing death he had ever witnessed, as he offered up open arms, wrinkled old hands ready to take the silent newborn. Despite the family's absolute trust and love in the old man, his words left the young mother clutching onto her infant tighter as she wept, messy red hair splayed over white sheets and the infant's white cheeks. The infant's dead emerald eyes stayed staring into oblivion, seemingly searching for something not one of the living in the room could understand. Its mother's alike eyes leaked tears constantly as her chest heaved in and out precious oxygen. What world would take a newborn from its mother? She tried her hardest but could not come to understand it.

But even as she cried, her silent husband finally relented to the old magician's twinkling blue eyes as he knelt beside his wife, whispering soothing words as he pried his dead son from its mother's arms. His arms shook as he held his firstborn child in his hands for the first time. So still, so still. No breath would ever fall from his son's lips. He would never hear his heir calling for him, taking his first steps, riding his first broom. A few stray tears fell down his face as he swept a shaking hand through his son's raven hair one first and final time, before he began to disassociate the stillborn in his hands with his son, his heir. The child in his hands was never his, and never will be. With this bitter thought in mind, the Potter Lord placed the infant in the elderly man's wrinkled fingers, shaking, shaking, as he backed away unsteadily.

Albus looked down upon the infant within his arms, all of his years showing upon his face. He was the well renowned Headmaster of a prestigious school that the child would have attended in a little over eleven years from then. The child would never get a chance to stand beside him in the fight for what's right. His mouth turned down as he turned sorrow filled eyes upon the mother.

"I will do what I can."

His words were a whisper, a promise, which the harried mother immediately latched onto, her sobs growing louder at the chance of hope for her son. That she would be able to see her son's eyes filled with happiness, to hear him laugh, to hear him cry. It was everything she could have wanted. Her husband on the other hand, was suddenly filled with a slowly building rage. His wife and he had just suffered so greatly, they didn't deserve fake promises. His wife may have only been introduced to the world of magic around a decade earlier, but he had grown and learned with the knowledge of magic surrounding him. Nothing, nothing less than Necromancy, could ever stand a chance at bringing his son back. The Potter Lord grimaced and was ready to begin yelling in rage, and hurt, and sorrow, at the elderly man, before he felt a strong hand upon his shoulder. His bronze eyes looked up into the dark, unrelenting eyes of his first and very best friend. The young Black shook his head before letting go. The fire slowly left the young Lord Potter before he dropped to his knees and took his wife's hands. The family needed time to grieve, all could witness that. The pale blue eyes of Dumbledore watched the scene behind half-moon glasses before he strode out, leaving the young family to their misery, his mind flying a mile a minute. He was a man on a mission, and feelings could not cloud his judgment.

* * *

As midnight struck in the famed hospital, bright, vivid green eyes highlighted by the moon stared up into a pair of pale blue. The infant in the crib of the hospital's nursery stared up at the stranger in awe. A tired sigh left the stranger as he stared down into the bright eyes. He knew he hadn't much time. The healer assigned to take care of the infants in the hospital's care was due to come by in a little under ten minutes. An old wrinkled hand reached out and pet the silken raven hair atop the newborn's head.

"Hello little Harry," he whispered to the too small child.

Green eyes stared up at him in confusion, and slight delight at being pat. Corvus gargled out sounds in an infantile greeting, being quickly shushed by the silver haired male.

"Quiet now, we don't want to be caught, do we?"

His whispered words were filled with mirth and the child quickly quieted, staring unblinkingly at the elder. Corvus reached out a fat hand and pawed at the air above him, seemingly trying to reach for the old man. Albus smiled at the newborn.

"Eager, are we? Well, I can understand, I suppose. It's not every day a boy comes back from the dead. But that's enough talk for now, we must get you back to your mother," the words from the old man's lips were low and melodic and the infant didn't make a cry as he slowly picked him up.

The man cradled the premature infant to his chest, just as he had done the stillborn by the name of Harry James Potter just a few short hours before. So small, so small was the infant in his hands. So fragile yet full of life, so unlike the boy he would have to be passed off for. Albus had his work cut out for him. He quickly shook his head, pushing those thoughts from his mind. He had no time for such thoughts. He looked down into the bright, unnatural color of the infant's eyes before disapparating from the hospital renowned for being unable to disapparate from.

* * *

Albus appeared in front of a two story house in Godric's Hollow only a little after thirty minutes past midnight on the first of August. The scent on the night breeze was of the autumn leaves, and Albus drank in the scent before making his way up to door of the house. He could see a faint glow of light in a few windows which alerted him to the fact that the family had indeed went home to grieve instead of staying in St. Mungo's, just as he had expected. Taking a deep breath, the elderly man brought out a hand from under the silent newborn and reached out to quietly knock on the door, hoping to not disturb the peace of the night. Three heavy yet low knocks later left a set of footsteps coming towards the front door. The door halfway opened to reveal a tired and weary Lord Potter. His sorrowful eyes widened in surprise as he caught sight of his visitor and his breath hitched as he saw the bundle he was holding and the rising and falling of its chest.

James let out a shaky breath before opening the door wider and moving out of the way to let the elder male in. He silently led him to the room which held his silently crying wife and two of his dearest friends. His wife had long ago stopped her loud sobbing, and lapsed into silent tears, while his short friend Peter had gotten rather tired a mere half hour earlier, leaving the mourning friends for well needed sleep. Upon entering, the elder man was suddenly met with three new pairs of eyes. One in unadulterated surprise, one in pure suspicion, and one in desperate hope. The red haired woman breathed in a shaky breath before daring to ask.

"Is that…?"

Albus smiled kindly at the young woman, unknowingly repeating a reply the young newborn had heard before as he whispered, "It is."

The woman let out a relieved sob as she shakily reached out her hands for what she believed to be her son. The old man let the baby go from his wrinkled hands into the waiting hands of the mother. A shaky grin stretched upon the woman's lips as she held the newborn to her chest. Dumbledore looked from the woman to the men before nodding and whispering his last words.

"Well, I'll be off."

As the man disapparated from Godric's Hollow, the 'father' of the newborn stood in horror. Because, as the baby had passed to his wife, he had seen its eyes. Wrong, wrong was the color of the infant's eyes. His son had had his wife's beautiful emerald, yet this newborn, this boy, had an unnaturally bright and vivid green that the Potter Lord had ever seen in a curse so evil that it would shake a man to his core. The infant wasn't his son, and he knew it.

Another man in the room who could see the obvious signs was the studious Gryffindor werewolf. The moment the man he had come to see as his mentor had entered the room, he could tell the child with him wasn't his pack member. The smell was all wrong. The second half of him that he had had since a child wanted nothing more than to rip the impersonator to shreds, but his other half cried, it was an infant, a pup! He quickly shushed the monster inside him as he made his way over to the man he had come to see as his leader.

"James," he hurriedly whispered, "The child… He isn't…"

Instead of seeing confusion, as he had expected, he saw a sad resolution and acceptance in his friend's eyes.

"I know," the Potter Lord answered softly.

And know he did. How could he not? The child was not his. But how could he tell this to Lily? Oh Lily, sweet Lily, who clutched onto the infant as if he held her world together. He couldn't tell her the child wasn't hers, it would absolutely crush her. With a sinking feeling, James knew he had to lie to his wife to protect her from that pain. He would pretend the child was theirs, he would raise him as a Potter and he would be his heir in everything but blood. James would forever keep the secret that his son was not his. He could only hope that his friend would be wise enough to keep the secret as well.

Lord Potter watched as his best friend Sirius grinned down at his new godson and his wife smiled the most beatific smile he had ever laid his eyes upon. Watching the scene, he turned to look at his bronze haired friend, communicating through their eyes. They would keep the secret to protect those they loved, and they would love that very secret as well.

* * *

As the first rays of light from the sun hit that August morning, a new couple was left sobbing, as they found out that their youngest son, that they had come to love so quickly, was stolen away in the night, no leads to be found in sight.

* * *

The next year passed in utter bliss for the Potter family. They went under the Fidelius Charm shortly after the 'birth' of their child. Their home in Godric's Hollow was protected by the loving godfather of said child, Sirius Black. Everything was perfect, or as close to perfect as you could get during wartime.

Corvus, or as he was now known as, Harry, loved his family as much as a young one year old could. Whenever his father was home from his job as an Auror, he would spend time with the boy, making bubbles appear from his wand, telling him about his day despite Harry not understanding, and telling him stories about brave heroes who fought valiantly. His father's stories were his favorite. His father's excited yet calm tenor always made him happy.

Harry loved his mother, of course, as well. His mother was with him constantly, doting on him and talking to him. She would often just take him into her arms and dance with him, singing soft tunes that would leave him giggling and grinning, making happy childlike noises in return to her soft words. Of course, she also liked to ruin his fun, he noted. The time he was trying to catch the neighbor's cat that had climbed the fence being one time in particular. He had just tried to pet it, honest, and it tried to pet him back, but his mother had swooped in and pressed him to her chest telling him he was being a 'Bad Harry, very bad Harry' and that 'You could get hurt baby. Kitties have claws.' Harry had pouted until his most favorite uncle came to the house.

Said 'uncle', was actually his godfather, Sirius Black, whom the toddler had dubbed 'Uncle Siri.' Sirius lathered the boy in gifts, always playing with him whether it be in the form of a man or in the form of a big, black dog, his animagus form. He showered the young Potter in attention and was always happy to babysit. He was his father's partner who helped him fight the bad guys and he always had funny stories to tell of his father that would leave the toddler laughing. The man loved the toddler as much as the toddler adored him, and even went as far as naming the young Harry his heir, which surprised the boy's father and mother, but was not unappreciated.

The boy of course loved his 'Uncle Wolfy' as well. Remus Lupin, the 'uncle' in question, was quite surprised when the toddler had first called him that, but he couldn't help but be enamored by the innocent smile on the intuitive boy's face. While at first, he was distant from the child, never touching him in fear that he would hurt him since he couldn't see him as his leader's pup, but after a while, the child had managed to worm its way into his heart. It wasn't the child's fault after all. He kept the secret of the boy's true unknown parentage, and overtime began to shower the boy in as much love as his friends did. Sure, his ways were a bit more docile and gentle, but the toddler soaked it up anyways. Harry loved when his Uncle Wolfy would babysit him, reading him books by the fireside, slowly dragging the toddler's hands under the words as he read. He may not understand what the man said, but he loved the way he said it.

The boy was also fond of his last uncle, if not a little wary of him. The young balding man was shy, that much Harry could see. He was always nervous around the young Potter and never, ever held him. But he did buy sweets for him sometimes and always gave him a timid sort of smile. The man always stuttered whenever he talked but he didn't seem bad to Harry. Just a little distant is all.

The Potters enjoyed life for that year. Whenever they could, the family would go out as a unit; to the park, to a quidditch game, to a zoo. Whatever tickled their fancy, they would do, because during wartime, one could only do so much to stay happy. Of course, little Harry didn't even know they were in a war. The adults always tiptoed around unwanted topics and the only pieces of the newspapers his Uncle Wolfy would read to him were the comic sections of the Daily Prophet. But Harry was a very intuitive child, and whenever he saw his mother with tears in her eyes, he would gargle out baby language words, trying to tell her to be happy and smile. It would almost always work. However sometimes, it would just make her start crying more.

Because Lily was one of the brightest witches of her times, she saw the signs. She pretended to stay ignorant, and, in fact, she tried to convince herself to stay ignorant. But she saw the signs. She knew her husband tried to keep her son's identity, or actually, his lack of identity, a secret. But when she looked into those eyes, so different from her own, she knew the boy in her hands wasn't her son. But she loved him. She loved the boy, her Harry, with all her heart. But a piece of her knew that somewhere out there, another mother was grieving over her lost son. And that tore the woman apart. But she had to stay strong. If not for her, then for her son, her Harry.

As the family celebrated the toddler's first birthday, nothing seemed amiss. The war was still raging on, but they had their shine of hope, their ray of light, the young baby boy called Harry. Harry continued smiling and laughing, and the family continued fooling themselves that nothing could go wrong.

* * *

Of course, something always has to go wrong, and that something occurred on Halloween night, a little over a year after Corvus had been born. But the tragedy of October 31st hadn't started upon that night. No, it started a bit earlier. In a job interview for the Divination professor position at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Sybill Trelawney, the supposed great-great-granddaughter of a famous seer, had a vision of a prophecy. This prophecy foretold the birth of the one who could bring the opposition's leader's downfall. The prophecy spoke of a boy marked as an equal, born to those who had thrice opposed the man, and born as the seventh month dies. A man who had stumbled upon the interview, a Severus Tobias Snape, heard bits of the prophecy and ran to tell the leader of the 'dark' of the prophecy. The man, upon hearing the bit of the prophecy, set out in search of all children who the prophecy could relate. Only two fit the terms. A boy by the name of Neville Longbottom and a boy named Harry James Potter. The man decided the biggest threat to be heir Potter and set off at once to rid the world of the danger to himself, leaving a servant to deal with the Longbottoms just in case.

The man, a man born Tom Marvolo Riddle, who had renamed himself Lord Voldemort, appeared in front of Godric's Hollow. As the leaves had once more began to fall, the Potters had decided to change their secret keeper to their least likely to choose friend, Peter Pettigrew. That choice would be the choice that would decide their fate. Pettigrew was a weak man and would follow any strong leader that would protect him. As he saw his friend James would no longer and could no longer protect him, he moved onto bigger fish; namely, the infamous Dark Lord. As such, when his Lord had demanded the Potter's location from him, he turned over the information with only a tiny fraction of guilt.

Voldemort made his way past the gates of the house at Godric's Hollow, brushing a stray strand of dark hair that passed in front of his eyes away. He strode into the house and when he was faced with the determined face of the Potter Lord, he wasted not a second to cast the killing curse. A second in battle could equal death, as James Charlus Potter knew quite intimately. Leaving the fallen body behind, the self-proclaimed Lord continued up the stairs and to a child's bedroom. His red eyes quickly scanned the quaint room before setting on the redheaded woman in the middle, clutching a toddler to her chest. He had been begged by his servant to spare the woman, and he valued the man's wishes. After all, it was due to him that he even knew of the prophecy. So the leader of the dark side of the war tried to convince the mother to give him her child in exchange for her life. When he saw that the woman was hysterical and would not give up the child, he saw her death as inevitable and took her life.

The man took a breath, two consecutive Avada Kedavra curses having taken a lot out of him. But it was not over yet, so he made his way towards the crib where the toddler stared up at him with such unnaturally colored eyes. Riddle let out a breath as he looked into the eyes before reaching down to touch the child. It was silent and he was amazed at how fragile the toddler before him really was. This child, capable of killing him? He highly doubted it. It would be so easy just to smother the thing with a pillow. But even a murderer had slight morals, and torturing children was never as gratifying as torturing those who deserved it. So he took a few steps back, readied his wand, and uttered the Killing Curse.

Only for the curse the fly back at him, and the house to go up in flames. His body died and he was left to flee as a spirit, leaving the boy to hopefully die in the wreckage of the house of Godric's Hollow.

* * *

Upon nightfall of the next night, a motorcycle landed onto the pavement of a street in Little Whinging, Surrey, by the name of Privet Drive. A giant of a man got off of the motorbike, grabbing a bundle from the sidecar and walking over to where an old man and an old woman were waiting for him.

Twinkling pale blue eyes stared upon the child he had not seen for over a year, and took the child back into his arms as he had done all so long ago. Lightly placing a letter in between the toddler's blanket, the man was astounded by how much the premature child had grown. He talked quietly to his companions, wary of the child waking, before leaving him on the doorstep of Number 4 Privet Drive.

In a few short hours, Corvus would meet his new family, a family so very different than the ones he had loved.

* * *

**End Note: **Yeah. That's the prologue. I actually absolutely adore the Harry in this story, or should I say Corvus. And I hope none of you are too ultimately mad about what I have done with the backstory. I personally love Dumbledore, but I can also see him as a villain. To those of you who read my, so far rather short, story, Written Reality, fear not, I have only hit a slight snag in writing it. I hope you all enjoyed this prologue.


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